“Then it’s a short story.”

“Don’t.” His ring clicked once against the rim of my water glass, one flat note.

“Nobody in this hall wanted you here except out of pity.”

I turned the silver class ring on my right hand, once, and picked up my Pinot Noir.

“The people who offer pity usually need it the most,” I said.

His mouth opened and stayed that way.

Margaret said something bright about the flowers and got her hand around his elbow, and he let her turn him, and his ring knocked the glass again on the way.